The Case of the Creepy Gig
by EveningInHornersCorners
Summary: The Scooby gang has run out of gas. Nothing unusual there. But when they go into a weird manor that just happens to be hosting a Monkees gig, mystery ensues...
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: I'm trying to write this kind of like "The New Scooby Doo Movies", but forgive me if it doesn't turn out right. Interestingly enough, however, the gang did meet Davy Jones in an episode. Unfortunately, it hasn't been released on DVD.**_

_**So, on with the story.**_

"Where are we going, again?" Shaggy asked as he glanced out the window at the scenery. Nothing much. Dark clouds were scudding across the sky and it was already beginning to rain. Hard.

"Shaggy, it was your idea. How can you forget about the pizza eating contest?" Fred's tone was amused.

"Of course I didn't forget! You know, I was just…testing you." Shaggy stammered, glancing at Scooby for support. The dog did nothing but guffaw.

"Uh oh." Fred said cautiously.

"What?" Daphne inquired.

"Look at…"

"It can't be that bad, Fred." Shaggy interrupted.

"But Shaggy…"

"We all know you, Fred. You don't _have_ to worry." Shaggy pointed out.

"Who's talking?" Velma said dryly.

"But Shaggy…" Fred started to say again.

"Seriously Fred, cool down."

"I'm perfectly cool. I'm just trying to tell you…"

The Mystery Machine came to a halt.

"…That we're running out of gas." He finished.

"Golly, _now _you tell us." Shaggy shook his head in annoyance.

"Hey, look at the view." Velma quickly changed the subject.

Outside loomed a large, forbidding manor with gauntlets galore.

"Say, maybe we can get some gas." Daphne suggested.

"At…at that old place?" Shaggy gulped through chattering teeth.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: Behold, it has risen from the grave! Written no better, mind you, but you can't have everything…**_

Though it took some convincing to get Shaggy and Scooby out of the Mystery Machine, the five of them were soon on their way.

"I still don't think this is a good idea…" Shaggy said uncertainly as they walked to the door.

"C'mon Shag. What's the worst that can happen?" Fred asked as he rang the bell.

"Don't, like, tempt fate." The other man gulped.

###

_Ding dong! _The doorbell sounded.

"I'll get that! It must be Mr. Rogers." Mike announced, almost dropping his guitar as he leapt out of his seat.

"Hey man, calm down." Davy instructed. Mike just rolled his eyes, exited the library, and subsequently took a few long strides towards the door.

He turned the knob and threw it open to reveal two men and two women -all four of whom almost looked like _teenagers_- and a large brown dog.

"Is uh…one of you Mr. Rogers?" the Texan questioned with raised eyebrows, surveying the group. They appeared to be a perfectly clean cut bunch, but that was about the extent of it.

Granted, Mike wasn't far out of his teens himself, but when they'd spoken on the phone Mr. Rogers had implied that he was an _older_ man, and one who made passing references to his Harvard education at that. The only one of these kids who looked like they might even stand a chance at an Ivy League school was the short girl -about six inches shorter than Davy- in the orange turtleneck, red skirt, and thick glasses, and she was…well, a _girl_.

The other woman, titian-haired and wearing a purple dress, elbowed the tallest man in the ribs. This lanky one looked more like the Monkees than any of the others, even if he was just wearing a simple green t-shirt and brown bellbottoms. His simple attire was set off by his long golden hair and short goatee.

"What?" he whispered defensively.

"You're Mr. Rogers." She replied fiercely.

"No. That's my dad."

"Shaggy, behind all hair, you're still a Rogers. Now step up." She insisted.

"Uh...uh…" the redhead prodded him in the back. "I'm Mr. Rogers."

Mike's eyebrows went up a little higher but he courteously stepped aside to let them pass through the door.

"I wasn't expecting you to be so…so young, Mr. Rogers." The Texan remarked casually. "The rest of the group is in the library. I hope you don't mind that Micky was looking through your books. You see, he's obsessed with…"

"No…not at all. That's…just fine." The dirty blond said hesitantly. "Hey, look, Mr. uh, I don't believe I caught your name."

Mike grinned wryly. "Nesmith. Mike Nesmith."

"Well, Mr. Nesmith Mike Nesmith… I mean, Nesmith… my associates and I have something we need to catch up on. We'll be down to the library in a few minutes. Just go and wait for me."

The Texan shrugged. "Okay." He took off at a fast clip down the hall.

###

Thus left alone, Shaggy looked at the others desperately. "What's going on?"

"Reah. Rwaht?" Scooby demanded.

"I have no idea, guys." Fred responded, fiddling with his ascot.

"He seems to think you're Mr. Rogers. But _another_ Mr. Rogers." Daphne added poignantly.

"There has obviously been some kind of miscommunication and it's our responsibility to clear it up." Velma contributed.

"Let Daphne clear it up. She's the one who got us into this mess. She _had_ to make me say I was Mr. Rogers." Shaggy looked at the titian-haired girl witheringly.

"Now hold on a minute…" Fred began defensively.

Knowing a fight was the last thing they needed right now and desperate to change the subject, Velma commented, "He mentioned 'the rest of the group'. What do you suppose could he have meant by that?"

"With _our_ bad luck we've probably stumbled into some will reading…" Shaggy interjected. "Do you remember when Scooby inherited…?"

"Yes, Shag. We remember." Fred sighed. "But what are we going to do about _this_?"

"We could just take the bull by the horns, go in there, and explain everything." Velma offered.

"Isn't that what you said before?" Shaggy snapped.

"I'm merely reiterating my former statement. Besides, do you have any better ideas?"

Spurred on by that remark, the other four settled down to think.

###

As Mike reentered the library, his other three Monkees looked up.

"Was it Mr. Rogers?" Davy asked, putting his tambourine down on an arm chair beside him.

"Yeah. Well, someone who _claims_ to be Mr. Rogers. Looks like we've got ourselves _some_ employer. He looks younger than we are. And he had three other people with him. He called them his 'associates'. I think they were maybe even a little younger than he was. Oh, and a dog. He looks like a mutated Great Dane or something."

"Well, we might as well take his word for it. How else are we putting food on the table?" Micky queried. "And besides, you know what they say…" At this point he slipped into his James Cagney impression. "Looks can be deceiving."

The Englishman, however, was still somewhat skeptical. "What were these people dressed like?"

"Well, 'Mr. Rogers' was wearing brown bellbottoms and a green shirt. He had a goatee, too, and _some_ mop of hair. The short girl -she was even shorter than you, Davy- looked like his right hand man, or woman, I guess, from the way they were standing. She had this thick pair of glasses and was wearing an orange turtleneck with a red skirt. Nice, short bob. Then the other guy -blonde, the brawn, I'd say- was in..."

"Sounds hot." Davy murmured.

"I haven't even _said_ what he was wearing yet. Besides, it's February and not exactly a warm one at that."

"No, the short chick with the glasses."

"Oh no…not again!" Micky cried dramatically, leaping up from his seat, putting both hands on Davy's shoulders, and sitting him down in a chair. The drummer looked to Mike. "There weren't any other girls, were there?"

"Well, there was the one with red hair who was wearing the purple dress. I have a feeling she's Mr. Rogers's manipulative girlfriend, because…"

"I don't want to hear about it!" Micky moaned exaggeratedly.

Peter inquired, "What was the brown of the group wearing?"

Mike smiled. "That's brawn, Pete. And he was wearing this white shirt, with jeans and an ascot. Oh, and I forgot. Our boss's girlfriend also had an ascot. She and the brawn are probably best friends. I'll bet she's _constantly_ venting to him about…" Mike stopped midsentence.

Davy immediately snapped out of his daze and was on his feet in an instant.

"Mike, what's wrong?"

The Texan could only point.


End file.
